


The Corner of Her Smile, the Edges of Your Spirit

by nocturneblack



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Other, POV Second Person, Poetry, Post-Canon, Prose Poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 17:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9452234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturneblack/pseuds/nocturneblack
Summary: She comes back to you as something broken, but your hands are accustomed to mending steel.A poem for Gendry, about Arya.





	

You decided to love her long before she lets you:

when you were frightened children, when you shielded her cold, fragile body with your own as you lie on wet, unfamiliar earth.

..

She comes back to you as something broken—

a girl with a foreign way of speaking, toughened by salt-water winds, hardened by blood crusting in the lines of her hands.

When she tells you she is no one you scoff in her face.

_You_ remember

wolf-blood and dark hair and grey eyes.

_You_ remember

acorns and pinning her to the floor of a smithy when she smelt of fragrant oils and lye.

She comes back to you as something broken, but your hands are accustomed to mending steel.

..

As soon as she remembers how to be Arya you remember how to love her.

Easily, easily.

..

You often cradle her porcelain white hands in your own blackened palms.

She does not mind being marred by your soot and grime.

She lets you hold her hands in your own until she grows impatient, pulling them free to trek over your forearms, your shoulders, your face.

..

You don’t ask her for surrender.

You can’t remember ever asking her for anything.

But she surrenders to you regardless— sprawls out on your bed with spread thighs, face shining up at you like the waxing moon.

..

You fasten your cloak around her shoulders and tell her you never wanted to possess her.

You never sought to covet long hair and longer limbs, never meant for jealousy’s bane to seep through your chest when smaller men than you glance at her.

She smiles— not like a wolf but like the sun smiling on blades of grass— and says,

“Possess me?”

as she grabs hold of your shoulders, slants her lips over yours, entertains her curiosities with her tongue.

“If anything it is _I_ who possesses you— the center and the edges of your spirit— and I do it like this,”

her mouth at your neck, on your cheek, her breath against your temple,

“Easily, easily.”

 


End file.
